Restraint
by TutorGirlml
Summary: He wants to tell her, but knows she isn't ready...How long with Hook have to wait for Emma to truly remember what they had? The holding back is painful, but he'll do whatever it takes. (Imagined missing moments from 3x12 and 3x13)


_Hello again! Killian Jones and Emma Swan seem unwilling to stay out of my head for very long, so here is yet another one-shot; this one delving deeper into imagined missing scenes from 3x12 and 3x13. I can't help but think there had to have been more interaction between the two of them than we were shown, and so I've tried to imagine it here. Hope you enjoy this one, and please let me know what you think after you've read. As always, I don't own them, or anything to do with the show._

"_Restraint"_

At first, Killian Jones had forced himself to hold back because Emma didn't – couldn't – remember him. When he had finally found her again in New York City, he had not wanted to scare Swan any further away or make her bolt the moment she was finally returned to him. Granted, he had attempted his poorly received kiss, but once he had seen its failure, and felt the accompanying disappointment and pain, he had reined himself in, knowing that the ardent, hopelessly-in-love other half angle (while true) was not going to help him reach her.

When she had first opened the door to her apartment and he had seen that beautiful, skeptical, challenging face again, Hook had nearly been overcome with emotion. Immediately, the year spent wandering, sacrificing, and searching desperately was made worth it, even as her eyes squinted in thought, trying to decide if she knew the leather-clad stranger on her doorstep. Despite her uncertainty, Emma stood there before him once more, and he could hardly breathe. His whispered "Swan" came out breathless and awed, as if she might vanish like a mirage before his very eyes, and for a moment he could make no other words follow. The mere sight of her within reach had been too much and not enough for him, all at the same time. He'd reached out to pull her in and cup her cheek in his calloused hand before his better sense could speak up, and he had paid for his lack of restraint with her well-placed knee and forceful shove before she had locked the door between them. He was denied her presence once more, and Hook had told himself then and there that he would have to hold back. If he ever hoped to win Emma over and return her to Storybrooke and her family, he couldn't keep spooking her with familiarity and closeness she couldn't understand. He could not lose his head at the overjoyed thrill of finally having this real, flesh and blood version of her in the same realm that he was at last. Hook wanted nothing more than to delve his one hand into her thick, riotous mane of blonde curls, and then cradle the back of her neck to gently pull her in close to him. He ached to bury his nose in that luxurious hair of hers and recapture her unique scent – sweet fresh air, apple blossoms, and the faint trace of cinnamon – which he had been missing for more than a year.

All he could do instead was clench his fist tightly at his side, gaze up at her window, and force himself to wait.

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When she had finally taken the potion from him, Killian couldn't help hoping that her eyes would clear, recognition would come, and Emma would smile, glad to see him. Instead, Emma merely studied him, looking almost troubled and disappointed. Fear, worry, and doubt rushed back into her expression, along with the heavy burden of destiny that he could see weigh back down on her shoulders. Trying to ignore the squeeze in his heart at her reluctance to acknowledge him, he tried to focus on his larger mission in an attempt to bolster his fallen spirit. Hook sighed, biting his lip to hold back the words he had hoped to say when she knew him again. It still wasn't the time, though it had never been harder to exercise such restraint. He could not put anything else on her; he had already shattered the happy, normal life she had finally been able to enjoy with Henry. He hated himself for being the one to bring trouble to her, to remind her of past pain, but there had been no other choice. She'd _had _to know. He'd had to fetch her – for her family's sake – and he would not have stopped seeking her if it had taken another year, or ten years.

Yet the guilt came when he conceded that his search had been at least partly selfish also. He could not let her go. The thought of his Swan adrift in the Land Without Magic, separated from her loved ones and her memories, had tormented him every moment until he had set off to find her. Lost in another world, living a life that was not truly her own, would not be what Emma would want he had told himself. Had he been wrong all this time? Maybe her desire to cling to her blissful ignorance was too strong. If she never forgave him for the rude awakening, what would he do then?

"Come, Lass, let's go back to your home, where I can try to explain in private," he murmured, ushering her before him on the crowded street with his hand gently resting at the small of her back. Resignation was in his voice and every line of his bearing. Emma was not in the least happy to see him again – not as far as he could tell. He was still going to help her, his devotion had not wavered, yet he had hoped that knowledge and remembrance would return her trust and playful affection for him at least – if not the deep longing he felt for her. There had been something growing between them before they were separated by the new curse. He had not imagined that connection, even if it had been unspoken. Feeling as if that had vanished now –even though Emma was herself again – would take him a moment to recover from.

Somewhere in his mind, Killian had envisioned the scene where Emma's memories were restored and she knew him once more. The beautiful reunion had comforted him uncounted times in his year's seemingly endless quest. In his mind's eye, Emma would whisper, "You found me", just as her mother always did when her father came to her rescue, then Killian would give her a rakish grin in response and his own version of Charming's standard reply, "Did you really doubt me, Love?" Emma's voice would not be as dazed with adoring awe as Snow's, more a grudging, reluctant admittance. Nevertheless, the words were there, turning his lips up in a joyous smile at the mere idea, their weighted rightness never failing to warm his soul.

Shaking his head, Hook cleared the oft-dreamed vision from his mind wistfully, knowing it was not as meant to be as he had believed, or if it was, not yet. Emma did not thank him for his effort now, and perhaps she never would. His only hope was to finish what he had started: get her back to her parents and prove himself true. From there, he feared that he would take whatever Emma would give him – no matter how much less it was than what he desired.

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Bursting through the door onto the balcony, Hook's eyes were already scanning desperately for Emma, and for the source of his sudden alarm. He had heard her cry of surprise and banging and shuffling overhead as he sat waiting in her apartment. He hadn't stopped to wonder whether she would want him interrupting or what he was going to do, only that she might be in danger and he would not have anything hurt her when he could have stopped it; he had to get to her side. The sight that greeted him: Emma with a lead pipe gripped in her white-knuckled hand, her wide eyes and look of shock and disgust, and the way she panted like she had run a marathon, did nothing to calm his fear for her, though she did appear unharmed.

He wanted to pull her close, wrap his arms around her, and never let go. He wanted to plunge his hook into whomever or whatever had threatened her and spooked her so. Killian knew Emma Swan well enough to realize that she could handle herself, would not take kindly to being coddled when she was already off balance and upset, but the urge was there regardless. "What was that, Lass?!" he barked out worriedly, eyebrow quirked near comically in his confusion. It almost seemed that some dark, winged shape had vaulted off the roof just as he'd arrived on the scene – and Swan's troublesome beau was nowhere to be seen.

"A reminder," she huffed out, sounding both resigned and angry at once somehow. She brushed past him to go down the stairs to her own apartment again, muttering about how she should have known she couldn't have a normal life, couldn't be happy, and his tough, weathered heart – which he had assumed was past feeling at all before he'd met her – constricted painfully. She was angry at him again too, and though he wanted to defend himself, Hook knew he deserved her ire. Until he had appeared and brought back the memories that he could see she had not wanted as he had believed she would, Emma had been at peace, content. She and Henry had been together, living a good life, and his Swan might have been as satisfied and comfortable as she had ever allowed herself to be. True, it had not been real, but if she had been happy – truly happy – and she had not known the difference, then he had done her an unintentional harm.

Jerking a frustrated hand through his hair, Hook let out a short breath and followed her, watching the stiff, tense set of her shoulders, wishing – as he often had for as long as he'd known her – that he could ease Emma's pain. She slammed back into her apartment, stalking back to the table where the two of them had been sitting before Walsh arrived, grabbed up her drink, and went to stand looking out the window, her back to the pirate who only wanted to help her, to love her, but instead found himself unable to speak it aloud.

Killian made sure that the door was closed solidly, fiddled with the modern locking mechanism until he was sure of its fastness, then turned to study her blonde halo of hair highlighted by the moonlight streaming in the windows, tension and sadness still clearly evident even in the shadows of the evening room. He left his drink behind as he crossed the floor of the apartment to go to her. All the restraint he could muster was still not enough to hold him back.

"I know you don't remember, Love," he whispered, voice low and gravelly, "but I will always be here for you. I will always stand by you. You _can _do this. I have faith in you, Emma."

Despite misgivings, despite fearing that she would push him away, shut him out, he reached up to rest his stump on one shoulder, against her neck, urging her to stay still, while his hand began to knead on the opposite side, gently massaging the tight, coiled muscles in her neck and shoulder.

"Hook – "she started, obviously about to protest, to rebuild her wall, to move in action again.

"Shh…" he soothed his voice a soft lilt, pleading calmly and keeping her in place. "Please Swan, let me do something to help you. I am sorry I've hurt you. That was never my intent."

She let out a long, deep sigh, and he felt her shoulders finally lower, relaxing a bit. "Killian…" she breathed out quietly, a mix of apology, pain, longing, acceptance, and trepidation in her voice that stopped his breath.

He has dreamed of hearing his real name spill from her lips, and the reality does not disappoint, regardless of the circumstances. He never wanted this moment to end: she was finally letting him in, allowing him to comfort her, and he never wanted to lose the feeling it gave him. "It's alright, Darling," he continued to murmur, lips nearly brushing her ear, trying not to react with pleasure when she shivered lightly in response. "We're going to figure everything out."

Emma gave a quick dip of her head, one small nod of assent, but no more words. Then another whoosh of air escaped her, and finally he felt the rest of her clenched muscles truly relax. She slumped back into him loosely, her back leaning against his chest. Killian held his breath and kept back the stream of endearments and promises he yearned to utter against her skin. Instead, he gathered her just a bit closer and only swore fervently that they would face whatever came next _together_, and that they _would not _fail.

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They did not have long to re-acclimate upon returning to Storybrooke. After the one moment of weakness Emma had allowed herself, just after Walsh's exit from her life, she had reapplied her armor and gone back to holding Hook at arm's length. Undeterred, he followed in her wake like a dark, brooding shadow, unwilling to let her out of his sight, inwardly terrified at what their enemy might resort to in order to dispose of the Savior who could wreck her plans. He wouldn't allow himself to drop his guard, could not stand it if something happened to her now.

Hook stood in the background, leaning against the wall of Snow and Charming's new home and feeling on the outside of their familial discussion, but he jerked as if feeling a physical slap when Emma asked after Baelfire for a third time in a concerned, needing way that had him biting his tongue not to comment. He must have made some sort of motion, because Charming's eyes slid to his knowingly for an instant before Hook forced himself to calm down. _'Baelfire was her first love, he's Henry's father,' _he tried to remind himself. _'The man is missing, she's the Savior, and she wants to make sure that he is found.' _The mantra didn't do him much good, but he kept repeating it all the same, trying to put his own mask back in place though Emma had already shattered it and then taken her warmth away from him once more.

When their discussion came to an end and their group began to disperse, he moved immediately to follow his lady Swan. She shot him an exasperated look at the shadowing routine and shook her head, but didn't fight him, having already learned that it was useless. Nodding to her father and giving a slight bow to her mother, Killian trailed Emma out, closing the door behind them.

"Where are we heading, Swan?" he asked, eyes twinkling as he tried to mock a smile out of her, to ease her mind a bit despite all she had to worry over.

"_We're _going out to the town line – if you insist on tagging behind my every step," she replied tartly, raising a brow in challenge.

He gave her a bow and a smirk, sweeping his arm out to gesture her forward ahead of him and allowing himself a slight bit of flirtation as he took her bait and volleyed right back. "Well then, by all means, Milady, after you."

Snorting in amusement, she moved past him and back out to the street. The cool evening air lifted her hair off of her neck and blew flaxen strands of it out behind her, making Killian's hand itch to caress her bared skin and pull her behind him, to walk before her and shield her from anything that might threaten her – with his own body and life, if she would let him.

By the time they reached the marker of Storybrooke's outer limits, it was full dark, silent, and deserted. No one was around, and the night sounds of crickets chirping, owls hooting, and leaves rustling on the night wind were all that they could hear. It would have been almost eerie in the best of circumstances, but knowing that some new menace was stalking them and that people were vanishing made it even more disconcerting.

"Where was Little John found after the attack?" Emma was asking him. He had just snapped back to attention and turned to answer her, when the stillness was shattered by a beastly, earsplitting shriek and the swooping rush of wide, strong wings. Emma whirled to shine her flashlight on the incoming threat and face it, but Hook had heard the noise before and did not waste time trying to see. Diving for Emma, he cradled her head in preparation for impact with the hard ground, and tackled her to the forest floor, covering her body with his own.

The feel of long, sharp talons sinking into the flesh of his arm, digging and tearing as it tried to pull him off the ground, burned and stung mightily, but Killian gritted his teeth and somehow managed to keep them from being picked up. Emma was wiggling and squirming beneath him in a way his traitorous mind whispered would normally be quite agreeable, but then he realized that she was fishing to get hold of the gun she wore at her hip and find a clear shot over his shoulder at the winged beast.

When the shot finally rang out and the thing's claws released him, Killian felt his body slump forward in relief. His head fell to rest on hers, his forehead against Emma's for the briefest set of heavenly moments as they both struggled to catch their breaths. Pushing the weight of the flying monkey off of them where it had fallen, he quickly regained his footing and held his hand out to help Emma up. "Sorry about the rough treatment, Swan. I couldn't have that monster carrying you off," he began in an attempt to both explain and downplay his action.

Good natured ribbing bubbled in her voice as she returned with, "Sure, sure, Pirate. The _gentleman_ just decided to pounce on me, admit it."

He chuckled, shaking his head, though glad to see her lighthearted and joking. She finally took his outstretched hand to help pull herself up, and he winced in pain at the pressure. Quickly, he tried to hide the reaction, but Emma was already at his side, shining the flashlight on the injury he had incurred.

"You're bleeding!" she chided, empathy and concern in her tone. "He sliced into your arm pretty deep. Come here." Then her small but firm hands were pushing him toward her squad car, forcing him to be seated on the hood, and reaching into the vehicle to pull out the first aid kit stored within.

Stripping the heavy leather coat, now ripped up the sleeve, off of him and shooting him a stern look that warned not to make innuendos about undressing him, Emma was biting her bottom lip, truly worried about him. Killian swallowed hard watching the way her full, pink lip was sucked in beneath her teeth, wanting to feel it with his own teeth and tongue, but even that desire was engulfed in the emotion he felt upon knowing that she truly would be upset if something happened to him. Perhaps what had been simmering between them wasn't gone after all. The genuine anxiety in her stormy eyes as she examined his open skin and carefully tried to disinfect and wrap his forearm with gauze was nearly his undoing. More of her feelings than she had ever been willing to express were finally clear on her face.

When she had finished, Emma's hand lingered warmly on his skin, her gaze searching his. "Why Killian?" she asked. "That thing could have carried you off. You could have been turned into one of them too. You've seen it happen, you idiot!" Her grip on him tightened frantically. "What were you thinking?!"

"Easy, Lass," he placed his stump and hand on her shoulders, holding her out in front of him and forcing her to maintain their eye contact. "Listen to me. I have no desire to become a winged primate, but better me than you. They were sent to after _you_, Love, and I was not about to let them have you."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she leaned forward into his warmth, visibly collecting herself before speaking again. "Do you honestly think that I'd want you to be hurt just to save my own skin?"

Killian shook his head, practically beaming as she brushed light, shaking fingers through his hair and pulled him closer still. "Darling, I knew I would win you over eventually," he teased her with a wink; trying to give her an out if the emotion was becoming too intense for her. Inside however, her reaction was warming him, continuing to restore his hope. He had waited so long – to find her, to see her again, to rescue her, to bring her back, and to know that she still felt what had been growing between them. The excitement and joy that flared and actually soared within him finally overcame the last of his resolve.

Snaking his arm around her waist and drawing her flush against him, Killian chuckled at the little yelp of surprise that left Emma's lips as she lost her footing and fell into his chest. A crinkle of consternation appeared between her pretty brows for a moment, but it was easily smoothed away by the smile that followed. She wrapped her arms around him as well, and for once let herself sink into the comfort he offered instead of holding back.

"Killian, I…" she halted, looking hopefully into his eyes, but unsure how to voice what she finally wanted to admit.

He bent to place a quick peck of a kiss to her forehead, then the tip of her nose, before tracing down to meet her lips at last. Just before he pulled her into a slow, tender second kiss, he murmured his vow. "Now that I've finally convinced you, Love, I don't plan to stop kissing you anytime soon."

It felt good to freely confess, to lay himself, heart and all, at her feet after holding back for so long. He could finally show her his devotion without restraint, and it was the best gift she could have given him, even in the midst of danger and dark magic. Blinking rapidly, she quirked a half-smile at him, the look in her eyes heart-stopping in its brilliance. "Good," she whispered in response, "I'll hold you to that."


End file.
